Mythology AU: part 1.20
The wind blows calmly through the mountain tops. A queer full moon shines down upon them all. Completely out of schedule, something bad might have happened in the Celestial Palace.
A pang of guilt stabs her heart. Clenching a fist on her chest and casting a single glance toward the distant shadow of the Holy Tree, Mist whirls around above the treetops, her wings beating steadily to keep her midair.
Choices were made, and one must pay for what they had sown. Feeling guilty, wondering whether their decisions were right or not will never help… even if it meant following an order. For orders are choices too.
The sphinxes have left a while ago, depositing her somewhere below in the valley. Her own wings have taken her this far. Just a bit more and she will be near the open field spread out in front of Valhalla.
That very morning the field has greeted the young maidens of her race, ready to take up arms and receive their true calling. With trainings and knowledge handed down by their very family, they stand ready at the door of glory, ready to make the very first step as true Valkyries. The end of which is death as heroines and having the Goddess of the Afterlife extend her benevolent hand to cradle them all as her true servants.
Just like how it has happened to Mist herself.
The field comes into view. Dots of torchlight light the place as the merriment goes on below. Men and women dance and rejoice over the proud young ones, who stand motionless on a podium erected just for this occasion. Strong beverages and large plates of meat are handed around among the revellers as they shout out to the maidens, offering things they could not accept and telling embarrassing stories of them in front of their very nose. This is one of their last challenges, the one prior to the last one, to be more precise. As true Valkyries, nothing can distract them right now. Discipline at its best. But the time is almost over for their enduring and they will be marched away, thinking they have completed their tasks and soon will be named true Valkyries by their awaiting spiritual leaders, only to be slapped hard by the revelation of the true last challenge. One that all will pass, but at different degrees…
Slowly landing into the midst of her kin, Mist walks forward to the podium, unhindered by the crowd that barely recognizes her anymore. Once it was the haze of the booze that made them ignorant of her presence, now it was time that raised a wall between her and the people around her. Few remembered her, a forgotten heroine left unsung by bards in taverns…
Above the stage stand the young maidens, their heads bare and long hair still allowed to dance with the wind, dressed in their best suit of armour - some handed down from mother to daughter, sister to sister; some new and forged to fit the novice herself. The plate armours shine in the torchlight, attracting the attention of the people below, making the ones wearing it look strangely big and sturdy. Meanwhile, the ones wearing chainmail seem less intimidating next to their comrades, but none here can be fooled by looks. The mobility given by such a garment allows these young ladies to be deadlier than their counterparts. And then there are those who disappear among the metal, smaller by size, younger looking by age, adorned in thick heavy leather. All of them have a clear idea of their soon-to-be place in the ranks of the Valkyries; they have all been trained since childhood to fit their roles this day.
But alarm creeps into Mist’s expression. Someone is missing among them. Someone she yearns to see progressing in her life.
Her eyes scan through the podium again, examining each and every plate armoured girl. The girls that are meant to become one of the cavalries, riding white tigers into battle, pounding down mountains and cliffs on their feline companions…
And then, Mist smiles with glee. Standing no less proud than any of her fellow Valkyries, somewhere in the back, but still towering over most, is the one she wished to see this very day in her maiden glory. Clad not in Mist’s old plate armour, as she first expected, but in ornamented plated mail, something easier to manoeuvre in, a blond haired maiden looks eagerly into the crowd - no, beyond the crowd and into the vast skies and its full moon.
Mist raises her head, shouting out with a voice that pierces through the mutterings of the mortals beside her.
“Well, if it isn’t little Acrossai, all grown up and wearing a true woman’s armour? Yet has she found a man for her yet? Obviously not! I bet she spent her girly years painting in her room and falling in love with people from novels! Forgetting even how to wield a sword!”
Someone from the crowd joins in, recalling the last time the girl made a meal and forgot to take it off the stove, letting the whole soup burn to cinders.
And then someone else takes up, jeering her for a drawing she made once.
And soon enough someone else comes up with something more, retelling his story and laughing along with the people.
Yet the girl stood with a self confident smile, searching the crowd with a spark of amazement in her eyes. Clearly, she recognizes the voice among the crowd, but fails to find the individual. Her eye darts around for awhile, seeking the presence of her dear sister. The sister that has died in a battle a few years ago, the sister whom she just has heard among the crowd, the sister who couldn’t have been there.
Or can she?
Their eyes meet and Mist grins proudly at her.
But discipline wins over impulse. Instead of darting into the crowd, the girl just keeps looking at the impossible as people recall her earlier follies.
The smile blooms into true joy as Mist spreads her wings. With heavy beats, she rises above the crowd, unseen and unheard by them from then on, even by her own sister. Leaving the podium far below with her sister desperately looking for her silently in her place - someone she will never meet again while alive.
For that is the curse of death. Seperation.
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